Possess (15 page)

Twenty

W
HATEVER VAGUE HOPE
B
RIDGET HAD
of concentrating on the St. Michael’s Winter Formal disappeared in an instant. Don’t trust the priest. Really? She went to a bloody Catholic school and was literally surrounded by priests every moment of every day. How in the hell was she supposed to know which one
not
to trust?

Rule Number Five: They lie. They lie. The demons at the doll shop were attempting to confuse her, fill her with questions and distrust. According to Monsignor Renault, that’s what they did. You had to be strong. You had to ignore them.

“You okay?” Matt asked, glancing in her direction.

“Fine, yeah.” Bridget shoved the scribbled bit of notepaper into her clutch. Perfectly totally fine except for the fact that I don’t want to be here and I hate my life. Oh, wait . . .

“You seem kind of quiet.”

Bridget snorted. “How long have you known me?”

“All right, calm down.” Matt slowed for a light and flashed his winning, all-American smile. “That temper of yours is something else. I don’t know whether I want to high-five you or slip you a Xanax.”

Bridget pursed her lips. “Thanks.”

“I just thought you might be nervous. About the dance.”

What was she, twelve? Bridget was about to set him straight when she realized that it was probably safer for Matt to think she
was
nervous about the stupid dance rather than it was to explain what was really going on.

“Er, yeah. Yeah, I guess I am,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said quickly. “I know I kind of conned you into coming. I just thought you might—”

A loud buzz came from Bridget’s bag. She pulled out her cell phone and saw she had a text. From Peter Kim.

Are you really going to Winter Formal?

“Anything important?” Matt asked.

“Nope.” Just this stalker I seem to have picked up.

Another buzz.

You are, aren’t you? Going with Matt Quinn?

“I just thought you might enjoy the dance. Have a little fun. Smile.”

It was equal parts sweet and pathetic. “I smile, thank you very much.”

“Yeah.” Matt glanced in her direction. “But you should do it more. It’s cute.”

Did Matt Quinn just call her cute?

Buzz.

How could you, Bridge? How could you?

Peter was starting to creep her out. Bridget needed something to distract her.

“You won’t get in trouble with your coach?” she said, hoping this would be a topic Matt could prattle on about. “Staying out so late?”

Matt’s shoulders relaxed. “No. Practice isn’t till noon tomorrow, and it’s optional.”

Buzz.

He’s no good for you.

Buzz.

AND his dad practically killed your dad.

Buzz.

ANSWER ME, BRIDGET!

Bridget shoved her phone into her bag. What the hell was wrong with everyone tonight?

“How long have you played baseball?” she asked mechanically.

“Since I moved in with my mom,” Matt said. His voice sounded enthusiastic. Finally, something he wanted to talk about that wasn’t the dance or her dad.

“Oh, yeah?”

“She needed something to keep me busy. Little League, pitching coaches, then Riordan.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“I’ve been scouted,” he continued. “Couple of colleges plus the big leagues. Could be really good for me.”

“That’s awesome.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Matt shrugged. “Maybe. If I stay healthy. I could blow out my arm tomorrow and it would all go away. You never know.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“I guess not.”

Matt pulled into the parking lot at St. Michael’s. Couples in sparkly dresses and ill-fitting suits trekked to the gym, and Bridget was suddenly horrified. She was at a school dance, something she’d sworn she’d never do. It was a sign of the Apocalypse.

Matt cut the engine, then laid a hand on Bridget’s arm as she started to open her door. “Wait.”

He slipped out of the driver’s side and walked around to open her door. The perfect gentleman. As he made his way around, Bridget flipped open her phone to read the messages she’d ignored. All from Peter.

Why would you do this?

This is all your fault.

Bridge, just give me a chance.

I’d make you happier than he could.

I’ll die without you.

Maybe you didn’t go after all? Bridge?

Perfect. She’d managed to turn Peter Kim into a complete psychopath. The night just got better and better.

Matt pulled the door open and offered her his hand. “Ready?”

Bridget took an apprehensive glance at the couples lined up outside the gym, and part of her wanted to run screaming home, crawl under the covers, and hide.

She caught Matt’s eye and he smiled. “You’ll have fun. I promise.”

Her phone buzzed, but this time she didn’t even look at the text. She hit the mute button, shoved it in her purse, and took Matt’s outstretched hand. “Okay, but if I don’t, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Bridget trotted beside Matt, who strode confidently across the parking lot, holding her hand firmly in his. His confidence was almost annoying, considering this wasn’t even his school, but at the same time she felt a sense of protection in it. At the very least no one would hassle her as long as she was with Matt Quinn.

“Matt!” Bridget turned to see a vaguely familiar-looking senior. He was tall with a shaved head and goatee. Class president maybe? She had no clue.

“Hey, Chris,” Matt said. They did the patented brosive handshake–chest bump combo. “What’s up?”

Chris’s date wore the littlest little black dress Bridget had ever seen. If she dropped her purse and had to pick it up there’d be a Britney getting out of the limo moment. She pawed at Chris’s arm in a nauseatingly territorial display like she was afraid he was going to ditch her.

“This is Chelsea,” Chris said. “She goes to Mercy.”

Otherwise known as the Sluts on the Slope. Bridget was pretty sure she saw Chris wink at Matt. Ew.

Matt ignored it. “Nice to meet you. And this is Bridget. Bridget, Chris and Chelsea.”

Chris nodded at Bridget while Chelsea ignored her. That was about right.

“So what are you doing here, man?” Chris asked.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a dance tonight.”

“A St. Michael’s dance. You crashing?”

Matt looked sidelong at Bridget. “Dude, Bridget goes to school here.”

Chris looked at Bridget again, squinting, trying to place her. “Oh,” he said at last, still not convinced. “Oh, yeah. Cool!”

“Liu, is that you?” Brad bounded up and slapped her on the back like she was a teammate. “I didn’t know you were coming to the dance.”

“Oh, I guess I forgot to mention it.” More like avoided mentioning it in front of Peter. Like death.

“Hey,” Matt said. Again with the handshake–chest bump. “Bridge, you didn’t tell me you knew Brad.”

“Yeah, man,” Brad said. “We totally hang out.”

A look of confusion flashed across Matt’s face. Hang out. Right. She prayed he wouldn’t ask her about Brad later. How was she supposed to explain that gay men flocked to her like she was wearing a freaking disco ball as a hat without totally and completely outing Brad who, to be honest, might or might not be gay?

Thankfully, Brad was unfazed. He turned and waved to a group of dudes—some with dates, some without—standing by an SUV in the parking lot. “Guys, look! Matt Quinn!”

Then there was a dude-alanche as the entire St. Michael’s JV and varsity baseball teams piled on Matt. He chest-
and/or fist-bumped his way through them with a chorus of “Wussup?” and “Hey, man” until he had completed the gauntlet. Then Bridget found herself being introduced to a blur of people.

“You’re in my fourth-period shop class,” said a freckled redhead baseball player.

Um, no.

“Hey, I think we had religion together freshman year,” said one of their dates.

The girl was a senior, so Bridget doubted it.

Bridget smiled and tried to remember names and faces, but it was totally hopeless. She wasn’t used to this new social thing, and she wasn’t sure she ever would be.

“See you inside, guys.” Matt placed a hand on Bridget’s back and guided her toward the line of students outside the gym. Could he tell she was reaching social overload?

“I think you know more people at my school than I do,” Bridget said. She wasn’t sure if she was amused or horrified.

“You think?”

Bridget scowled. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”

Matt’s smile was playful. “Come on. You only hang out with, like, two people.” He glanced back at Brad. “Three, I guess. And you do it on purpose, so don’t throw that poor-me crap.”

“Maybe I just don’t find them that interesting.”

“Maybe,” he teased, “you’re afraid they might not find
you
that interesting.”

Ouch. That hurt.

They made it to the front of the line and were searched by a security guard. The school secretary, a frazzled woman who Bridget thought was named Mrs. Freeny, asked for Bridget’s ID and checked her off a list. Then her eyes rested on Matt.

“Matthew Quinn!” she cried. Her whole face lit up. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Freely.” Freely, not Freeny. Oops. “How’s Jacob’s swing?”

Mrs. Freely stamped Bridget’s hand without looking at her. “So much better since you worked with him. He still talks about you all the time. Are you coaching summer camp again this year?”

“Yeah, I think so. Tell Jacob I say hi.”

Mrs. Freely beamed at Matt while they walked to the bag check table. There was another round of “Hey, Matt” as they walked inside, accompanied by confused looks in Bridget’s direction.

Matt literally knew half the people in the gym. At
her
school. Bridget stared at the floor. It was more than a little embarrassing.

He slipped his hand around her waist. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Bridget lied.

He checked her purse, tucking the ticket inside his vest pocket, all while keeping one hand on her waist. Her gut instinct was to flinch away, but his hand was strong and confident resting there above her hip. It felt . . . nice?

Matt guided her to the edge of the dance floor and glanced down at her feet. “No combat boots? But you promised.”

“I threatened.”

“Do you fight all the time with everyone you know, or is it just me?”

Bridget’s witty comeback was interrupted by a hoarse laugh from behind. “Hello, Matt.”

Bridget spun around to find Alexa Darlington’s green eyes staring through her. She was wearing the most gorgeous dress Bridget had ever seen: a kind of wispy tiered skirt with a sweetheart fitted bodice, all in icy blue with a hint of sparkle. Her deep auburn hair was piled up in a complicated twist, with tendrils of her signature corkscrew curls framing her neck and face.

“Doing charity dates now, are we?” she said without even trying to hide her disgust.

Matt drew Bridget behind him, as if to protect her from Alexa’s venom. “Are you kidding? I was lucky Bridget agreed to go with me.”

“Like anyone here knows who she is.”

Matt took a step forward. “At least when you get to know Bridget, you still like what you see.”

Bridget stepped out from behind Matt to get a full look at him. His eyes were narrow, his cheeks pinched. Whatever had happened between them, he pretty much hated Alexa as much as Bridget did. Point to Matt Quinn.

“Aw, that’s cute. Playing the big man in front of your little date.”

Bridget bristled. She didn’t need anyone sticking up for her. “Hey, Alexa, don’t you have an entire football team to make out with? You know, now that you’ve worked your way through the spring sports?”

“Bitch!” Alexa spat the word out; her eyes glowed with anger.

“Come on, Bridge,” Matt said, taking her hand. “Let’s dance.”

Bridget was painfully aware that everyone in the gym was staring at them as Matt half dragged her out onto the dance floor. Great, now she had to stress about an audience witnessing her total lack of dancing ability. Last thing she needed to do was embarrass herself further.

Thankfully, sort of, the DJ morphed into a slow song, and instead of some half-assed attempt at hip-hop, Bridget found herself swaying awkwardly with her arms around Matt’s neck.

“Can I ask you something?” Bridget said.

“Sure.”

“Why did you date her?”

She felt Matt’s body stiffen and realized she’d probably overstepped her bounds. What were they to each other anyway? This wasn’t a real date, just some prolonged babysitting on his part.

“I—I don’t know,” Matt said. His voice sounded far away.

Bridget had no idea how to respond to that. “Okay.”

“I met her last spring, right after your dad’s funeral.”

Now it was Bridget’s turn to stiffen.

“She came up to me after a game I pitched against St. Michael’s. And then, I don’t know. We were dating. I don’t really even remember asking her out, I just remember those deep green eyes . . .” Matt gave a shake of his head and looked down at her. “Can we not talk about Alexa?”

“Gladly.”

Matt pulled her close and rested his head against her shoulder. Bridget’s heart nearly leaped up her throat. She’d never danced with a guy before, but now she found herself wrapping her arms tightly around Matt’s neck. It felt good to be that close to him, the orangey scent of his cologne dulling her senses.